The Dark One's Shadow
by Handwithquill
Summary: Dark One!Belle is looking for something in a small village in the Frontlands, she finds it, but neither know what he will be.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Dark One's Shadow

Rating: this part PG, fic will be NC-17

Paring:Rumbelle

Summary: Dark One!Belle is looking for something in a small village in the Frontlands, she finds it, but neither know what he will be.

A/N: prolog to a fic I've had bouncing around in my head for a few months. I'm upset and angry enough right not to be able to type it up. The rest will be in Rumpel's POV

The village could hardly be called that. It was on the edge of the front line of approaching ogres and most had fled. The only ones left were the ones that didn't have the means. Yet they still held a market day. The Dark One silently and invisibly moved down the lane, barely glancing at the worn-down and falling apart stalls. She knew something was here, something that she needed, but she didn't know what it was. It certainly wasn't the meager rationings on display.

The sound of a cart behind her, made her step to the side into a empty space between two stalls. The terrified squawk from the pile of rags has her spinning, magic crackling at the ready. The rags push themselves up so she can see that they are barely hanging onto the form of a man. He hunches back into the corner as his eyes widely search for danger. When he see her, he lets out a squeak and hunches further into himself.

She tilts her head and checks her glamor. She's still invisible. Her eyes narrow as she examines him more. His mousey brown hair is long, covering his face and starting to gray at the temples. The tread-bare rags don't cover enough of him so she can clearly see every one of his ribs. His right foot is twisted inward and swollen. And he is covered in bruises in varying stages of healing.

With small twitches of his head, his hair parts enough for him to meet her eyes. The jolt that goes through her when the meet has her frowning with the knowledge that what she was looking for was in front of her. She reached out and tip his chin up.

"Will you give yourself to me?" she asked, "Heart, mind, body and soul will be mine, to do with as I wish. And in return, I will give you what ever you want if it's in my power to give. Will you give yourself to me?"

She watched as thoughts passed behind his brown eyes and after a moment, he swallowed harshly and nodded.

"There is not much to give, but it's yours Milday."

"Good," she nodded and reached out a hand. He took it was her magic swept them away.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Dark One's Shadow

Rating: this part PG, fic will be NC-17

Paring:Rumbelle

Summary: Dark One!Belle is looking for something in a small village in the Frontlands, she finds it, but neither know what he will be.

Rumpelstiltskin flinched as the reddish-purple smoke swirled around them. He opened his eyes as he fell back, the corner he was cowering in no longer there to support him. He fell onto his side, pulling his leg up to protect his ankle. As the smoke dissipated, he looked around to see that they were now in a very well appointed bedroom.

He was sprawled in front of a large four-poster bed, the mattress was thick and the blankets looked inviting. The wall across from it was a wardrobe, the doors open and dresses spilling out, all in vibrant colors and rich materials. The wall to the right of the bed was taken up with a huge fireplace, a fire blazing to combat the chill. The far wall only held a door.

The woman stood above him, staring down. The fire reflected off her skin making it seem more golden than the gray-greenish hue it had in the marketplace. Her expression is both stern and considering. With a twitch of her head, her hood falls back and a mass of chocolate curls falls out. In the flickering fire light some shine red for a moment. She must come to a decision as she raises an eyebrow, hand coming up to undo the clasp of her cape. She turns towards the door, a shrug of her shoulder and the cape floats to the floor behind her.

She doesn't say anything, but he knows he's supposed to follow, so he scrambles for his staff, which was laying next to him and limps after her.

The room turns out to be a bathing chamber. There are shelves along the walls with bottles and jars. The far wall has another fireplace and in the middle of the room is a large tub. With a wave of her hand, the sconces on the walls light, as does the fire place. Another wave and the tub fills with water, steam rising off the surface. She examines him again, before going to the shelves and picking up an assortment of things. She places them on a table and steps towards him.

He watches as she reaches out and places the tip of a pointed black nail just below the hollow of his throat. She tilts her head to the side, keeping his eyes as she runs her finger down. He can both hear and feel the tearing of his shirt. It was no more than scraps of fabric that he had mended too many times, but is was all he had. It falls from his shoulders.

A smirk appears on her lips, and with a flick of her fingers still on his waist, his pants join his shirt on the floor. He stumbles, trying to to keep his balance with his staff and cover himself, but she catches his free arm and stares at the part of him he knew wasn't adequate. Milah had been clear about that.

But she doesn't say anything, just adds an eyebrow quirk to her smirk and nods to the tub. He hobbles over to it, and is glad to see a ledge running along the edge on the inside. It was deep enough that he was worried about having to stand the whole time. The water is wonderfully warm and he finds his stiff muscles relaxing.

He jumps when she touches his shoulder, having forgotten she was there. She chuckles at him as she takes his hand, placing a cloth and a strong lye soap in it. He looks over his shoulder as she turns and leaves.

He makes quick work of cleaning his arms, legs, chest, and is dismayed when it takes three washings for his hair to get clean. The water is still warm and he's tempted to stay for a little while, but being the village coward doesn't mean that he doesn't know who she is. And there is no way he would risk incurring the wrath of the Dark One.

His staff was still leaning against the tub, and he grasps that to help him out. The pile of his clothes is gone and in its place is a towel that he quickly wraps around himself before slowly making his way back into the bedroom.

She's sitting on the other side of the bed, facing away from him, brushing out her hair. He looks around, shoulders hunching, trying to find something that looks like he's supposed to wear. He see nothing by the time she finished and places the brush on an bedside table. She stands and comes around the bed next to him, his eyes widen as he takes her in. The nightgown she's wearing is made of the smoothest silk he had ever seen. The light golden color played well with her skin. It also had a deep v in the front, showing the rounded curve of her breasts which caused him to lower his gaze, but that didn't help as it had a very high hemline, coming to rest just low enough to cover what was supposed to be covered. He closed his eyes.

She chuckled at him and he opened his eyes again and watches as her eyes roaming along his chest. He hunches even more at the disapproving look on her face. Again she nods and he sets his staff against the bedside table as he gets into the bed, trying to keep his towel firmly around his waist. Her hands splay on his chest, goose bumps breaking out along his skin, as she gently runs them up and down. He shifts at the warmth they cause, fear prickling in his heart that she will see the effects under the towel.

But she doesn't seem to notice, just runs them down, around his sides, fingers spread out, trailing warmth after them. It's when she frowns and moves her hands together to his left side that he figures out what the heat actually is. It intensifies and he feels a pulse go through him right where Morris, the butcher, kicked him a week ago when he found him hiding behind his shop. His side had hurt since then, but he didn't think too much of it.

Everywhere hurt.

She removes her hands and the bruise was gone. Looking down his chest, all of them were gone. He looks back up at her, mouth falling open as he tries to find the words to thank her, but she places a finger on his lips.

"What were you doing where I found you?" she asks quietly, hands still searching for bruises.

"I had nowhere else to go," he tells her. "With the ogres approaching, most have fled. Those of us who stayed either don't have the ability to leave or...or have no reason to."

"That might explain why you were still in the village, but not huddled between two market stalls?"

He sighs. All the village knows what he is, but he's reluctant to tell this woman, but he also doesn't dare lie to her.

"Where else would the village coward be?"

She stops her hands, eyes snapping to his, but he refuses to meet them. She grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"I expect he might be at home."

He could feel his throat tightening and the trembles starting as he shook his head. The sobs building in his chest.

"I don't-after...after-after they brought my-my boy back home from the front lines...they took it. I had lost everything. I lost my boy, I didn't deserve a home."

She stares at him for a moment before trailing the healing heat along his right arm.

"Everyone deserves a home," she says under her breath. He's sure he wasn't meant to hear it. It's quiet for a little while. "What did you do? For a living? This is a workman's hand."

"I was a spinner."

She dropped his hand and reaches for his other arm.

"Do you know why you're here, Spinner?"

"For whatever you wish, Mistress."

"Correct," she says. "Whatever I wish," she whispers, hands again moving down his torso, to the hem of his towel. One pointy black nail dips under it. "When I wish it, however I wish it."

He swallows. She can't mean what it sounds like, he knows no one would want to do _that_ with him, but he doesn't know what else she could mean. And she's waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good, Spinner." She takes a step further down the bed and let her hands hover over his ankle. "How?"

"When the ogres first attacked, I was drafted. Right before my unit was to be sent to the front, I met a Seer. She told me I had a son, but my actions would leave him fatherless. I didn't want that for him, so I..." He trailed off.

She nods and meets his eyes from the side.

"This will hurt, Spinner." Then her hands dart out and press down on his ankle. He arches, a scream ripping out of his throat, at the pain shooting up his leg. He can barely feel the heat radiating from her hands as edges of his vision darken. He's not sure when he passes out.


End file.
